


I'll Find You a Carnivore Girl

by estuary



Category: Dangan-Ronpa
Genre: F/F, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estuary/pseuds/estuary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I love you so much it makes me sick.</i> </p><p>Pre-Series. Spoilers all the way down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Find You a Carnivore Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Taboo-breaking, (consensual) rough sex, slapping, despair. 
> 
> Nothing to see here, folks, just horrible misery for the whole family.

Mukuro does not remember the first time her sister used her as a weapon, or the first time she loved it. 

“Hey, big sis.” Junko leans against her lap with her feet danging from the bed, fingering a freshly done braid before ripping it undone from the scalp down. 

She's in one of her moods (“her moods,” as though Junko is not entirely made up of them, more caprice than girl). When she gets this way, Junko's boredom is little more than ennui. Other days she is manic and others inconsolable. As a young girl she had once spent her phases crouching by dead animals, turning them over with her toe. She played games that made her sad and rubbed her eyes until her makeup ran. Mukuro shot a crow and a rabbit down for her, but neither seemed to yield what Junko wanted after she had dissected them. 

“Hm?”

“What would cause more Despair? To kill a thing you really love with your own hands, or to watch it die and be unable to do anything about it?” 

Mukuro thinks this over for a while. Sometimes Junko breathes against her stomach, distracting her, and all of her thoughts spiral into vapors.

“To kill it yourself,” she says finally, “but not understand until later.” What is killing to a soldier, or seeing other people die? 

“That's it; that's it! Oh, Mukuro!” Junko laughs and clasps her hands around her waist. “What would I do without you?” 

Mukuro doesn't smile. “Isn't that a little generous for you?”

“How anticlimactic.” Junko pushes her index finger up the bridge of her nose. “All my efforts were in vain. Maybe you'll even leave me again, do you think?” 

Mukuro doesn't respond; she never will until _maybe you'll leave me_ turns into _maybe I won't miss you._

“What would I do?” Junko's other hand trails slowly up and down her back, each finger a separate, cool river. Despondence washes over her face in a steady ebb and flow, as it always does when she is thinking of things.“I'd be alone, wouldn't I?” Each word brings a perceptible change in pitch until Junko bursts into sobs, her body seizing taut. 

Junko's crying is the prettiest she's ever heard, if only because she never does it halfheartedly (Mukuro has grown fond of despairing noises: She has never screamed since birth, and hearing the sounds is an indulgence). When she cries, it always comes as clarion and unadulterated weeping. In the night, it sometimes wakes her like the pealing wail of an alarm, dangerous and short. 

“What's wrong?” Mukuro combs a thumb through her hair, watching Junko float prostrate on the bedspread. The sobs subside eventually, though silent tears still well at the corners of her eyes and run into her ears. 

“I love you so much, it just makes me sick,” Junko says. The distress on her face is unlike Mukuro has ever seen. Her cheeks, rarely blemished, are flushed, and behind the tears her eyes have taken on a glassy cloud. “To feel that way about my sister!” She begins to cry again, and this time it sounds much more like laughter. 

Mukuro chooses her words carefully. “Love _is_ tragic,” she says finally. Her stomach is already in knots from her sister's behavior and the erratic, warm breathing against her stomach. 

“Don't you understand?” Junko rolls away from her and sits up to touch her cheeks, her neck, her wrists. Mukuro's skin and skirt are damp with tears. “This is the most terrible thing that could ever happen! I don't think I've ever known this kind of Despair, just wanting you to kiss me -!” 

She sits on hands and knees across the bed from her, lips slackened to a hollow 'o' Mukuro cannot quite remove her eyes from. Junko would never do to her what she has done to countless boys just to capture the moment at the breaking of their hearts. 

Mukuro does little she is not prompted to do. As soon as she kisses her, Junko is already pinning her beneath her knee, her skirt folded up around her waist, and she responds with nails and heavy drags of her fingers. In her haste, she pops a button from Junko's shirt, and the heart-shaped enamel flies onto the nightstand and spins and spins. 

“Watch what you're doing! Don't be such a fucking animal!” 

Junko on top of her is not the crying girl she was moments earlier. She is a contrast between sharp and soft, hard joints and wiry limbs, but her stomach is smooth as Mukuro runs her hand down it over and over. Though she warns her against recklessness she is as wild as she can be, pinching bits of skin along her breasts and stomach, grinding her knee between her legs until she cries, too, letting her teeth alight on bare skin. 

Ever since they were children, nothing has been able to make Mukuro cry except her.

At this, Junko softens. “What else is there to do?” she asks as Mukuro cries into her chest. “If we stopped now, we're already damned to Despair.” 

Junko has never really been the kind of girl you don't love. They were born that way, after all. Mukuro seizes her sister by the hips and rolls her onto her back. She finds her easy and needy and deep, drawing her fingers and thumb down opposite each other in quick strokes.

“Oh, no,” Junko keens. “Oh, no, oh, no. It's horrible. Maybe I'll die!” Her breath rises into high, shrill gasps, her chest bruised around the cups of her bra from Mukuro's mouth. No longer water but hot coils, fingers path down her back and hips, slipping between her legs from behind. 

It is ugly because of how easy it is, how quickly she slides against Junko's thigh when she pushes her mouth to her collarbone and gasps out, “This is it! Such shameful Despair!” 

Mukuro once sharpened a blade to the point of a needle. It drew blood and cut so sharp, but never hurt at all. 

She would give anything for even just a tendril of shame when she juts her hips forward for the last time, when the friction and Junko's palm and the humid trespasses of her mouth drive so sudden a thrill through her that she comes noiselessly in little more than a heartbeat's worth of time. 

When she comes down, the body beneath hers is distant and still. 

Consternation makes Junko's long lashes flutter. She grunts her annoyance, reaching up to fetter Mukuro's neck in her arms. She looks, again, as if everything in life is a chore. 

“Sister...”

Junko slaps her. 

Mukuro gasps and looks down with guilty eyes, turning her head to lick at her palm when she passes her hand by her face. Her sister's nails are sharp where they dig into her scalp. 

The next time Junko slaps her, she moans. This one might leave a mark. 

“You're pretty,” Junko breathes against her cheek. “Just not pretty enough.” Seizing Mukuro's face between her hands, she stares into her eyes, adding, “I don't know how I ever convinced myself I loved you.” 

She doesn't blink once. 

The shame finally comes nipping at her heels. Their time together always seems so substantially removed from the world. Returned to reality, Mukuro knows exactly who and what she is. 

It cuts where Junko knew it would; even a cheap shot can be fatal. There's triumph in her voice, not humiliation, when she cries out and bucks against her fingers. 

Junko smiles slowly with her eyes closed, but Mukuro is starting to feel acutely and desperately numb. 

“I'm sorry,” Junko says, but not with the cloudy disposition sometimes accompanying her more contrite moods. “You know how it is. Tragic misunderstandings make every love story worse.”

Mukuro's wrist firmly in her grasp, Junko kisses the red mark on her cheek. "I do love you. I do."


End file.
